Living with Sherlock
by Aya Ayame
Summary: What would happen if John had left 221 B sooner and Mrs. Hudson rented it out to you? Slight AU, may divert from the series.
1. You're Not John

You had been living in 221 B Baker Street for close to six months. Your land lady, a kind elderly woman named Mrs. Hudson, had given you a discount on the flat, considering she needed a tenant and no one would rent the flat considering who lived their before. You however being American and not keeping up with the news were unaware of the famous detective that used to live in the flat before you. So you enthusiastically accepted her offer.

Swiftly after signing your lease, you filled the flat turning it into a costume designers safe haven. Your two cats Jinx and Jasper claiming their own corners of 221 B as their own.

You rarely had people over to your flat, preferring to go out and meet your friends at their homes or on the town. So it was rather concerning when you heard rather loud knocking and a deep voice coming from the other side of your door one evening.

A light swear came from your lips, as you looked at the piece you were sewing. The stitching going askew as the knocking had scared you, you would have to rip it out later and fix it. Standing swiftly, you turned your sewing machine off and made your way toward the door ready to give a piece of your mind to the person on the other side.

You turned the bottom lock as you reached the door, leaving the sliding chain locked in place, you opened the door to see a rather tall aggravated man on the other side.

"Can I help you?" You asked, irritation clear in your voice as your (e/c) eyes stared back at the blue/green eyes of this strange man.

The man pulled a face as he saw you, confusion and equal amounts of irritation crossing his face, "You're not John." He practically spat at you as he took you in.

"Well no shit Captain Obvious.. Though I can't say I know who John is, I think it's safe to say you have the wrong flat pal." You responded, you started to close the door, but before you could, he stuck his foot in the door.

"What are you doing in this flat?" The man asked.

"Not that it's any of your business, I live here. Now, get your foot out of my door!" You said, slamming your heel down on the top of his foot.

The man quickly removed his foot, swearing under his breath as you closed the door locking it tight. You could swear you heard the man scream for Mrs. Hudson, and frantic running up the stairs, as your landlady's voice could be heard chastising the man she called Sherlock for making all the noise.

A hushed conversation later, and you heard a lighter more subtle knock on your door than before. Against your better judgment, you opened the door, peeking through the small opening again, you saw the smiling face of your landlady, and the smug look of the asshole who tried to barge into your flat.

"Hello Darling, I'm afraid I have some explaining to do about this flat, and the rude young man behind me. May we come in?" Mrs. Hudson asked politely.

Looking between the two, you gently closed your door, pausing as you considered your options. On one hand, you could go back to your work and talk to your landlady in the morning. On the other, your curiosity was peaked and you could procrastinate ripping your ruined seam out for a time.

So against your better judgment you gingerly slid the chain lock out of it's sheath and opened the door fully, "Alright, I'll listen. But you'll have to keep it short as I have work."

Mrs. Hudson gave you a bright smile, as the man behind her studied you. Both crossing the threshold of your doorway, they made themselves at home in your flat, explaining the odd circumstances.

The man whom you learned to be Sherlock Holmes was a former tenant of the flat you lived in. He explained that he was a highly intelligent Consulting Detective that worked on many cases with Scotland Yard with his friend John Watson. He told you tale of how he got involved with a crime lord named Moriarty that in order to save the ones he loved he had to disappear.

"So let me get this straight," you started. "You faked your death for two years, so that you could destroy a crimiminal empire, and are only showing up now because it's safe?"

"Naturally." Sherlock responded indifferently.

"And the only reason you came here is because you expected your friend to be here after two years, waiting, even though he truly thought you were dead?"

"Why wouldn't he be?"

"Maybe because he didn't want to live in a place where your past memories would haunt him so he could have a fresh start?" You responded incredulously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that, taking in your flat as it was now. Observing through his disdain.

You sighed in frustration, as you looked between Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. "So now what? You've explained your story though that doesn't excuse your behavior. What's your goal, your end game?"

"Well," Mrs. Hudson interjected before Sherlock could. "I was thinking since this flat has the two rooms already and Sherlock is... well he's-"

"Adverse to change." You supplied.

"Yes!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, glad you came to her aide. "Well I was thinking wouldn't it be nice if the two of you shared the flat. At least for a short time, while I have the down stairs flat renovated and then one of you could move in down there if need be."

You blinked slowly at the audacity of your land lady as her proposition sank in. A strange yet angry calm taking over your being, "Why in the world would I even consider-"

"I'll half your rent." Mrs. Hudson said before you could finish.

And that's how you came to be roommates with one Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective extraordinaire, and your own personal migraine.


	2. Research

Sherlock had left swiftly after you agreed to let him stay in the Baker Street flat, saying that he would be moving his things in starting tomorrow, and not to wait up for him. This left you looking bewildered at a giddy Mrs. Hudson as your front door slammed shut.

"Don't worry dearie, he comes off strong, but deep down he's not all bad." Mrs. Hudson said, as she stood from her spot. "Though if you want to know more about him. He's just a quick search away."

With that Mrs. Hudson left the flat. Leaving you to your own musings. "Not all bad, still means he's bad." You muttered to yourself, as you stood from the couch, making your way upstairs to your room to grab your laptop. Upon it's retrieval, you made your way back downstairs to do some sleuthing on one Sherlock Holmes.

With one Google search, you were able to find everything. All the cases he had been on. Watched his award ceremonies. You devoured John Watson's blog. Which led you to the Holy Grail of Sherlock's personality, _The Science of Deduction_.

To some the blog may be boring and pretentious, but having grown up a theatre kid, you found it oozing with subtext. You sat absorbing everything that you'd taken in you learned three very important things:

1) Sherlock Holmes was a very lonely man and those who knew him were aware. Which is the likely reason Mrs. Hudson tried so hard to get you to agree to letting him stay. She knew John wasn't going to be back anytime soon and she worried about him.

2) Sherlock did all the good he did to make himself worthy of an existence. He cared far more than he let on.

3) John Watson was going to be pissed when he found out Sherlock was back.

Needing a break from your online creeping, you closed your laptop as you stood. Crossing the small area, you plugged your phone into the docking station of your sewing table, and switched on some instrumental music. You then proceeded to rip out the stitching you'd fudged earlier.

It was later than you expected when Sherlock stumbled his way through the front door. You had thankfully finished your machine stitching, and were doing some hand beading on the bottom of a dress when he had slammed the door open.

Looking up from your work, you immediately noticed his split lip and bloody nose, and stopped what you were doing.

"I take it you went to see John then." You said casually, as you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a first aide kit, towel, and cup from under the sink.

"I'd think that's obvious." Sherlock responded, you could hear him flop down somewhere in the living room.

"And he was excited to see you I see." You mused as you filled the cup with warm water.

"Oh, just ecstatic." Sherlock spat as you re-entered the living room.

He had sat himself down on the couch, head resting on the top, body slouched down. You could tell he was going to have a headache tomorrow, but he'd be alright. Placing the items on the coffee table, you placed yourself in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked through narrowed eyes.

You looked at the supplies, then at the detective, "Uh... helping?"

"I don't need your help." Sherlock said indignantly.

"You're right you don't, but it's nice to have help once in awhile."

"Ugh, that's so ordinary of you! You're help isn't going to fix anything. It isn't going to bring us closer."

"Hey, don't be rude to me because you're upset about what happened with John." You said it casually, as if you were talking to your own friends.

"I'm not upset about John." Sherlock snapped back.

You smiled not unkindly, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes. "You can lie to yourself Mr. Holmes. You can lie to Mrs. Hudson, or John about your feelings, but you cannot lie to me about them. Because the entirety of my job is to read the subtext of what's around me. And I'll be damned if you're not hurt about being punched in the face. No one is that emotionless.

Now, are you going to let me help or not?"

Sherlock stared at you, irritated, angry, but also intrigued. You were ordinary that's for sure, he'd deduced you from the moment he saw you. Boring life, boring job, typical family. This however, this was something he hadn't expected. Maybe there was a chance you'd be something more yet.

"Well?" You questioned, snapping out of his mind palace.

"Fine. I'll take the help." Sherlock responded, sitting up crossing his arms.

"Cool." You said, as you dipped the wash rag into the cup. "This is probably going to smart though."

Gently you grabbed his chin, softly dabbing at the blood under his nose. There was a silence that took over as you cleaned him up. It was amicable to say the least, all the while Sherlock studying you, looking for anymore of you than he'd already seen. Though just as swiftly as you'd let him see the interesting part of your mind, it was gone. All that was there were the things he already knew and that upset him more.

As soon as you'd started your task you'd finished, releasing Sherlock from his trance. You stood, going to return your supplies. Clattering about in the bathroom. You came back when you were done, returning to your table and your beading, you spoke.

"I researched you today."

"And?" Sherlock said, lying on the couch, now that he had the space free.

"You're writing is very blunt and tobacco ash isn't everyone's favorite subject I'm afraid. Though you have a lot of passion for what what you do." You responded casually.

Sitting up to look at you, Sherlock groused, "What's that supposed to me?"

"I'm onto you Sherlock Holmes. And I'm going to continue to figure out who you truly are."


	3. Sibling Matters

True to his word Sherlock moved his things into the flat the next day. You had spent the day assisting him with carrying boxes into the flat, as well as making room for his items in the space. Only two arguments had occurred, which was less than you thought. The first being on you moving all of your sewing equipment out of the room, and the second being about him putting experiments in the fridge.

The later argument leading to you going out and purchasing a mini-fridge for your room. You made Sherlock sign a contract so that he would not place anything in the fridge nor tamper with anything inside of it as long as he had use of the kitchen fridge. Life was about compromise and it was a small price to pay in order to use the living room as a work space.

You were both still feeling out the others habits. Sherlock had a bad habit of telling you things to do with the expectation to comply. You had a habit of focusing so intently on your work that you seldom heard Sherlock's demands, thus causing some friction when he would give you some saucy comment about your ability to accomplish simple tasks. You tried not to let it bother you, rather forcing him to at least say thank you when you had done the service he asked. Though he did so with a sense of mockery. You would teach him manners yet.

The one thing that baffled you though was his constant fasting. You had inquired about it late into the third night that you hadn't seen him eat.

"I'm on a case." He muttered from his chair, placed in it's former location before it's move to storage.

"Yes, I know. The Case of how to win back John Watson. You don't eat on a case though?" You questioned incredulously, a plate of lasagna in front of you as you stared at him from the kitchen table.

"It would slow down my brain if I did." He groaned, hating the tediousness of the conversation.

You muttered something under your breath as you took a bite of food.

"What did you say?" Sherlock challenged.

You sighed, rolling your (y/e/c) eyes, as you chewed. Upon swallowing you said, "I just think the truth of the matter is that you push yourself to limits of no sleep and no food as a way to make yourself 'solve' cases faster. You obviously know how much time you can realistically go without both with your insane intellect. I think it's another way you boast your abilities to the world is all. You're challenging yourself in a stupid way in my opinion."

Sherlock stared at you as you continued to eat your food, his mind whirring as he deduced you. "You had an eating disorder."

You swallowed wrong as he said said that. Couching, you reached for your water perched next to your plate, taking slow sips.

"I beg your pardon?" You practically shouted once you were able.

"It was your Junior no Senior year of High School. You weren't eating out of spite, except for when you were at home. You had to then, obviously, you couldn't warn your parents about it. Though your portions got smaller and smaller. You didn't think anyone would notice. Someone did though. Your sister. A bad example you were setting for her, so you became even craftier with your eating habits. It makes sense, most people in artistic fields develop and eating disorder at some point. It caused you to be vigilant when others aren't eating, though it's a bit overbearing if you ask me." Sherlock droned on. "It's also why you keep a strict eating schedule now. You worry for your health and that you could fall into old habits. Am I right?"

You kept your eyes on Sherlock, continuing to eat your food as he went. Savoring the flavor and texture of the meal. When he had finished, you countered with a question of your own.

"Am I older or younger?"

"What does that matter?" Sherlock queried, eyes narrowing.

"Just answer the question Sherlock. Am I the older or younger sibling?" You said, smile faintly touching your lips.

"Well, you're the older sibling, but I don't know what that has to-" He stopped mid sentence, catching onto what you were getting at. "Oh, oh you didn't-"

"Right. My sister had the disorder. I was fortunate not to. And even when I couldn't eat because of my anxiety I would still force myself to eat. Because she was watching. SO if she saw that I could do it through all of my problems, I hoped she could work it out to get there as well." You said, watching Sherlock work through it.

"But, why would you do that? It wasn't what helped her in the end? Why would you worry so much about her simple problem?"

"Because hopefully she would know I loved her enough to care about her. And when she has bad days or someone says something that makes her relapse, she talks to me about it and we work through it. We check in about food until she feels okay. She was able to love herself enough to work through something that caused her pain. But she knows she doesn't have to maintain that progress by herself." You spoke so clearly and confidently, though Sherlock read more in your face and body language.

You weren't explicitly offering friendship. No, that would be too much too soon from you. But you were offering a safe space. A place where things could be spoken about truthfully and without glamor. You were sure Sherlock wouldn't use it, but you in your own way were offering help should he want it.

"Well, she's lucky to have had someone looking out for her." Sherlock spoke after a moments pause.

"You are too Sherlock." You said, having finished your lasagna, you took your plate to the sink. "Your brother was quite passionate about the lengths he'd go for you when he threatened me this morning."

"So you met Mycroft then?"

"Yeah."

"Are you taking his money?"

"I'm a fiber artist that works for commissions with a heap of student loan debt."

"I see."

"I'm splitting it of course though. You get half on the condition you leave my laptop alone."

"I haven't touched it."

"Sherlock, you did a shit job of clearing my browsing history."

A pause. "Alright fine."

**A/N: I was going to put in meeting Mycroft, but then I didn't feel like it. Maybe I'll do it as a bonus. Right now I'm just enjoying small apartment vignettes. which maybe what this series is. Just fun moments in 221B some fluffy maybe others more romantic as we build. Let me know if there's anything you want to see. I'll probably have Mycroft and John show up rather soon.**

**My sister also did go through an eating disorder that she's worked through and I'm very proud of her for it. I've felt a kinship to Mycroft because of it. Though, my sister and I have a far healthier relationship than the boys. **

**Thank you to everyone reading! I appreciate you all!**

**I'm trying to keep a gender neutral reader, but please do let me know if I slip. (My personal pronouns are she/her and so when writing it might slip through). **

**Thank you again for everything!**

**Ciao!**  
**Aya**


	4. Friendship

The next week flew by in a whirlwind. Sherlock had had a slew of clients come into the flat. On one such day he even had an assistant, whom you learned was a friend of his Molly Hooper. She seemed rather sweet, though you felt sorrow for her. Her emotions were very clearly projected for all to see and as life would have it, Sherlock knew and used that information for his benefit.

Though it seemed he did consider her feelings somewhat. He had designed their day together to give her a closeness she craved. An insight to his life and intellect. Something she seemed to have craved right before this moment. Though she had asked you early on why you weren't chosen to help Sherlock, given your convenience of access.

To which you responded, "I rather enjoy my job unfortunately. Sherlock and I have an understanding that when I'm doing my job they are my off hours to him, which unfortunately falls through most of the day. Thus rendering me, 'Utterly useless. And a waste of potential doing the mundane.' At least that's how Sherlock put it."

You shared a smile. It seemed Molly understood that as of right now, you were clearly just roommates. Though somewhere in her, she hoped you could be someone Sherlock would eventually call a friend. About midday, the two had left the house. Going out to sort some crime scene or other, leaving you to work in a semblance of peace.

It wasn't until late evening Sherlock had come home. By that time you were making your own way out of the flat. Practically running into Sherlock as you did.

A shriek escaped your lips with a repetition of apologies. You had taken a step back. Twisting your messenger bag's straps in a nervous habit.

Sherlock looked you over steadily. Your black wool duster was buttoned up until it met the chunky red scarf you had seated around your neck. The red beanie perched on your head matching it, meaning you had made both items yourself. You had two bags on. A messenger which was more likely a laptop bag, as well as a very hefty looking backpack slung over your shoulders.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock queried, his interest peaked as he hadn't seen you leave the flat yet.

"I applied for a directing gig at one of the nearby theatres and I'm one of three possible choices they're considering hiring on. I've been in and out of the flat all week Sherlock." You responded a bit uncomfortably.

"Really? I hadn't noticed. Though I should say that's interesting I guess for you all things considered." He mused, as he walked past you and continued up the stairs.

"You know you could join me if you want." You blurted before you could stop yourself.

Sherlock turned back around. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, it might give you insight on why I'm able to call you out on you BS. But also it'll save you from staying home alone and obsessing over John for a few hours." You spoke, "Though I do suggest you hurry as I'm going to be late if I wait any longer."

You continued out the door, not quite expecting Sherlock to follow you. Though you were pleasantly surprised when his tall form fell in step with yours. A smile taking over your features.

"I didn't expect you'd take my offer."

"Yes, well. I am a little curious about what you think is so great about your job. It's merely research."

You walked in relative silence after that. Showing up fifteen minutes later to a small brick theatre house. You walked around the back, opening the stage door to enter.

Upon entering the theatre, you saw a table as well as three other persons setting up the space.

"Ah Marcy, it's good to see you!" You started, making your way to the woman sitting in the middle of the house.

"Hello (y/n)! I see you've brought company tonight." She replied, her brown eyes drifting toward the tall man traveling behind you.

"Yes, this is my friend-"

"Colleague."

"Friend! Sherlock Holmes." You introduced. "I usually wouldn't bring someone a long to audition night, but Sherlock has taken an interest in my job, and you typically jump at the chance when that happens."

"It's no trouble!" Marcy responded. "We've just picked up some ASMs as well, this is Johnathan and Abigail." She finished, introducing the young blood in the room.

"Fantastic! Now, I'd like to go over how I'd like the evening to run if that's okay." You said, removing your bags and jacket as you set up your station.

From there the next three hours moved by very quickly. Sherlock observing you as you worked. The pieces the actors were portraying were prepared cold readings. Straight from the script. You wanted to know what you were working with right away without being mislead. The script in question needed to be intimately understood.

Sherlock watched you as you worked. You had started seated next to him and Marcy, scribbling in your note pad as you went. As actors came up, you even asked your Stage Management team what they thought about each one. Sharing your feelings as you went along. By the end of the night, you had ended up seated on the table your things were on. Notebook filled with notes and head shots, as you conversed intensely with Marcy.

As the night came to a close you had a list of people you wanted to see on the morrow. You gave Marcy the list, which she would then e-mail for callbacks. Collecting your things, as well as Sherlock, you everyone goodnight and left the theatre.

"I hardly see what the point of that was." Sherlock mused.

"Well it's important to know who's going to understand the script." You started, walking swiftly in the cold night.

"Some of those people you kept though didn't seem to know anything about the script though." Sherlock countered.

"Yes, well they made bold choices. Though some of them were very wrong I respect it."

"I just think your job relies to heavily on emotion. It opens people up too much."

"Well that's true for new actors. Those who don't understand yet, but it's so much more than that Sherlock. Acting is just that it's. It's understanding what each line is trying to do. Like the other night for example, when you told me my help was ordinary and unwanted, you were trying to strike me with your words. You wanted me to hurt, so that I wouldn't push you into sharing. But my action was to counter that strike. It takes a lot of work to dissect a script and chose actions, or verbs, for each line that make it believable. Which is why as a director it's my job to make sure everyone's playing their action and not getting caught in the emotion. Actions lead to emotion. Not the other way around."

You had stopped walking, turning to look at Sherlock as you did. You could see his mind racing behind his mystic eyes. He was taking in what you said. Processing it as he often did when you went on your waxing revelations about your work. You made your simple tasks interesting to him, and he didn't understand why.

You opened your mouth to speak, as your stomach grumbled. A slight laugh left your mouth. "I guess we should get home. I'm quite hungry."

"There's a fish and chip shop nearby that should still be open. I usually get extra portions as I've helped the owner before." Sherlock said, walking in the direction of said shop.

"Are you eating tonight then?" You inquired, following the detective.

"It would appear so." He hummed in confirmation.

"Good then. I was beginning to worry."

"I do consume nutrients through drink."

"That's not nearly enough." You mumbled, rolling your eyes.

"Clearly." He responded, before silence washed over you again.

A few moments passed, you could feel hesitation rolling off Sherlock in waves. Figuring he wouldn't be opening Pandora's Box anytime soon, you prompted him, "You want to ask or tell me something. I can feel the need to do so roll off of you. I promise not to bite."

A glance was thrown in your direction. "Back at the theatre you said I was your friend."

"Yes, and?" You retorted, clearly missing the point.

"We just live together though. I've given you know reason to be my friend. I've never declared you mine. So..." He trailed off not knowing how to finish.

"Look Sherlock, just because I consider you my friend doesn't mean I have to be yours. Friendship doesn't work that way always. I trust you enough to have welcomed you into my life. I find you interesting. You see the world in a unique way that's different to my own and I respect that. So if the day comes where I become your friend, then great! I welcome it with open arms. If not, well you still have a person who's willing to put up with you given the circumstances."

You were really stumping him tonight. You were a kinder person than he originally gave you credit for. Though he saw you were bullied and jaded from it, you had come to a place where you tried hard to put it behind you. It was admirable to him in a way. He had always struggled to make friends. Here you were freely offering a companionship that he knew he deeply craved.

"Thank you." Sherlock whispered, causing you to turn you head to him. "Truly. It's not easy for me to... Just thanks."

You beamed at him, your first full smile. Not the half way ones that snuck out or the saucy smirks that you found amusement at his rash antics. A genuine smile.

"No worries. It's what friends are for."

**A/n:**

**So here's a new chapter, and I'm having fun with it. I thought writing was going to be the worst to come back to, and it's turned out to be quite enjoyable!**

**Thank you to everyone who has read or followed! I appreciate you immensely!**

**If you want to see something in particular happen, please let me know!**

**Comment if you like!**

**Ciao!**

**Aya :3**


	5. Meeting the Parents

You stood anxiously at the stage door of The Queen's Theatre. Your nerves causing you to worry the sleeve lining of your black duster as you waited for the show to end inside.

It wasn't that you were nervous to be at the theatre. In fact, you had just been there only last week to support a friend who was in the Ensemble of Les Misérables. Rather it was who you were waiting for that had you so on edge.

You had heard Sherlock's portion of a phone conversation with whom you assumed was Mycroft last night. Your roommate had very aggressively rejected the idea of going to the operetta with his family, to which you weren't surprised. Though Sherlock was starting to understand your world, he wasn't about to sit in a dark theatre for three hours with his brother in strangling reach. Yu couldn't say you blamed him.

What you didn't expect though was Mycroft texting you early the next morning asking for you to set up a backstage tour for himself and the boys' parents. You had delayed in your response. You would have to at least go on the tour with them if you could snag it. It was a requirement that they person requesting be there. However, you had already left the flat to give Sherlock time to spend with his parents. He had requested time alone with them, wasn't ready for you to see him interact with them, and you respected his need for privacy. Although, Mycroft was paying you quite well to keep tabs on Sherlock and he even asked you politely. Knowing Mycroft, the message was more of a demand than a request.

After internally fighting yourself for five minutes, you made the calls to make proper arrangement for the Holmes family. You messaged Mycroft after with an affirmative message, to which he thanked you in his own way.

Which brings you back to the current time. You look down at your watch, the black numbers flashing read 1700. You sighed, the show would be over soon and you would be meeting the people who had birthed and raised the Holmes boys.

You tried not to over think things. Tried to be open minded. A small part of you couldn't help but assume the worst. If the boys were anything to go off of, well you could only imagine this stemmed from how they were raised.

It wasn't much longer you were trapped in your thoughts, when you caught sight of Mycroft making his way into the alleyway. You took a breath as he made his way toward you, you noticed the older couple following behind him.

"Good evening, (Y/N)." Mycroft addressed, as he came to stand in front of you. "I would like for you to meet my parents Violet and Siger Holmes. Mother, father, I give you (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).

"Hello, it's lovely to meet you!" You whispered out, trying to keep some pep in your voice.

A knowing look gleamed in her crisp blue eyes at your name, as she said, "Oh, you must be Sherlock's new roommate correct? Myc has told us a little bit about you. Though he hasn't revealed too much. Tell us, where are you from? What do you do? Are my boys treating you kindly?"

You smiled at the woman, the tension in your body releasing as she asked you questions. You responded in kind to all of her questions, asking a few of your own from the couple, until Devyn came and collected you for your backstage tour.

You followed behind Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, standing beside Mycroft. You were delighted in watching Violet and Siger take in the atmosphere of the theatre. Devyn kindly explaining everything she could about the props, sets, and costumes. Violet seemed to have no problems asking questions as they went. You had a feeling the boys received their extreme intelligence from her. Though Siger just seemed happy that his wife was enjoying her time there. He was rather a quiet fellow. They seemed to balance each other out.

When the tour finished, Violet simply insisted that you come for dinner with them. Not that you really had a choice. The small woman was very persuasive and you didn't want to seem rude. Which is how you found yourself observing the Holmes family for the next hour. Among food and stories.

Violet not holding back as she shared stories about the boys when they were little. It was quite an enjoyable time. Well, except for Mycroft's snide comments followed by a sneer whenever he would get embarrassed from something his mother said. You honestly found it unsettling the extent of which he spoke to his mother. Your own mom wouldn't have stood for that, and you couldn't understand why she took it.

Once the check was paid for, you parted ways with the Holmes parents. Mycroft had offered you a ride home. Which you were suspicious of, that is until you got in the car.

He had wanted a full report on Sherlock's well being, which you gave. After, you sat in relative silence. You looked out the window contemplating what to do. A deep seed of anger was blossoming in your chest. As you continued to think of the evening, you couldn't help but explode.

"You know, you really don't need to speak to your mother like that." You spoke, (y/c/e) eyes flicking to meet Mycroft's brown orbs.

"If you'll forgive me, I don't think you have the authority to speak to me this way." Mycroft spoke, his tone clipped.

"I'm not going to let you bully me into submission on this Mycroft." You countered, "You're supposed to be a government official. You're supposed to treat people fair and with dignity. The way you spoke to your mother tonight was quite frankly abhorrent and disgusting. You should be ashamed of yourself, especially when it's so obvious that woman would do anything for you should you ask it of her."

"You don't know anything about my relationship with my mother, (Y/N). You would do well to keep your insignificant opinion to yourself." Mycroft hissed through his teeth.

"You're right, I don't know about your relationship with your mother Mycroft," you started. "I can't begin to know the trials and tribulations you've gone through with your mother. That doesn't give you the right act like a twat. It doesn't take a genius to say that she very clearly thinks the world of you and Sherlock, and that she's so fiercely proud of you. I just think that one day you're going to say something nasty to her and then one day she won't be there anymore and you'll miss all of her little quirks and the way she loved you."

It was relatively silent for the rest of the ride. Neither you or Mycroft saying anything as you pulled up to 221B Baker Street. You swiftly exited the car, not giving Mycroft a second look or even a goodbye.

You found yourself on autopilot as you entered the flat. Stripping your scarf and jacket as you walked up the stairs, muttering irritatedly under your breath. You hadn't meant to, but you slammed the door as you opened it. The noise causing Sherlock to look up from his microscope at the kitchen table.

"You seem to have had a good night." Sherlock commented, looking back to his microscope.

"Yeah, it was a real delight." You huffed, as you flopped on the couch, grabbing the remote and turning on your T.V.

"Mmmmm." Sherlock mused, "Is your delightful evening the reason Mycroft is basically going on a tirade about you this evening?"

"I didn't appreciate the way he spoke to your Mother, and I let him know it." You mumbled, flipping through channels.

"He says you called him a twat."

"Yeah, well someone had to tell him sometime."

A small smile found it's way on Sherlock's face. Though you didn't see it. No, you were to distracted, eyes glazed over as you flipped through the channels. It was in that moment Sherlock knew that even though things were changing, even though John was moving on, he may not have to be alone. Not when he had a friend like you.


	6. Jasper and Jinx

You sat casually on the floor in front of your full size studio bed. Various water color paint tubes lay on the floor in front of you, half used, the ends curling from where you had rolled them so the paint was easier to extract.

In one hand you held a plastic paint dish, the individual indented dividers holding varying shades of pink as you tried to mix the perfect shade of dusty rose. You suppose this would be much easier had you been using a flat paint palette. Though the few times you tried that your OCD had lashed out, causing you to waste the paint you put on the damned thing. In the end, you decided it would have been a bigger mess anyway when you had to apply water anyway.

Your Russian Blue Jinx lay casually beside you. His long body curled into your side providing a small sense of comfort as you worked. Meanwhile, your small black short hair Jasper lay across your neck. You felt a little guilty about the fact that they had chosen to stay in your room ever since Sherlock moved in.

It wasn't that they were unfriendly, though you were fairly certain that Jinx had some form of anxiety. Rather, it was the fact that Sherlock made a lot of unfamiliar sounds and smells. Both of which your cats were not fans of. So tonight, you decided to hang out in your bedroom while Sherlock was out.

After a minute or two, you had finally mixed the shade you wanted. A satisfied exclamation escaped your lips as you dipped a brush in your mason jar full of water. Your hand moving briskly across the page in long languid strokes.

Occasionally you found your attention drawn to your television. You were watching old episodes of _Ghost Adventures_. It wasn't good by any means, but you watched it regardless. It was a guilty pleasure if you will.

Time seemed to pass faster than you thought. You were taking a break as you waited for your design to dry. You really just had to outline it, probably could have moved on to the next prelim. But you liked completing things before moving on. It worked better for you to feel the finality of the piece so you could give your full attention to the next one.

Your full attention was given now to your T.V. and cats. You lazily scratched their heads as you made remarks every time Zak Baggins made some insensitive comment to the spirits he was trying to communicate with.

The front door opening pulled your attention. You were surprised that Sherlock was home so early. You thought he would have arrived later from his train heist with John. Though if he was here now, that could mean it went bad.

He shouted your name in the living room, causing Jasper and Jinx to lift their heads in attention. You really didn't know what to prepare for, but responded that you were in your room.

You could hear Sherlock's feet on the stairs to your room. It didn't take him long to reach your bed room door, he gently pushed it aside so it was fully open.

"What are you doing in here?" Sherlock asked, he was clearly puzzled as you usually camped out in the living room.

A smile crept on to your face as you responded, "Chillin' really. Hanging out with my cats, while I watch some trash and work on a few prelims."

"Oh," Sherlock started, you could see the man was uncomfortable with this information. "If you want space, then I can leave you to it."

He turned to leave, but before he could, you called out, saying, "Sherlock, you're more than welcome to join me if you like. I honestly wasn't expecting you home so soon and needed a little bit of companionship, so I came upstairs to bother my cats."

"Are you quite sure?" Sherlock inquired, a sense of hope

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't. You just have to be mindful of the fluffs." You confirmed, your voice warm as you turned your attention back to the Television.

Sherlock slowly, but deliberately entered your room. He took in the space. The space was cozy, homey in a way that screamed you lived there. The walls were covered in different art works, some just aesthetic, others from movies or television shows you enjoyed. You had two bookshelves in the corner of the room. One devoted to books you enjoyed as well as some figurines. The other devoted entirely to binders filled with past designs. All of them black, spines labeled with the name of each one in alphabetical order.

He crossed the room, taking a seat on you left side, seeing as Jinx had taken residency on your right. He brought his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as if he was trying not to take up to much space.

"You know you can sit on the bed if you like." You whispered, "You don't have to sit on the floor just because I'm on the floor."

"No, this is fine." Sherlock responded. Being in your room alone was more intimate than he usually allowed, but to sit on your bed, regardless of your placement in the room, was way beyond his comfort.

"Suit yourself." You said, as you continued to watch your show.

Sherlock attempted to watch with you for all of two seconds. He was pulled, distracted by the feeling of being watched. Turning his head to look at you, he was met with two large green orbs studying him. Unamused by the cat, Sherlock furrowed his brow, silently trying to will the cat away. Though Jasper wasn't one to be dissuaded from someone new.

A smile crossed your lips as you watched Sherlock from your peripherals. You were tempted to see how long Sherlock would keep this staring contest with your cat, but his energy screamed distress.

"You know, if you offer your hand to him palm down so he can smell your fingers, Jasper will probably leave you along." You informed brightly, as you demonstrated with your hand how to offer it. "He's just curious about you is all."

Sherlock gave you a long stare. His eyes trying to read your (y/c/e) ones for any malice or trickery before he offered his hand to the cat.

Jasper's eyes lit up as he sniffed the slender appendages of Sherlock's hand. His teeth peeking through his mouth as he took in the man's scent. It stayed like this for only a few moment. Time almost seeming to stop for Sherlock as the cat continued to make it's assessment of him.

Sherlock was getting ready to remove his hand, tired of the cat's seemingly picky nature. When suddenly, Jasper began to gently rub his head against Sherlock's fingers. A soft hum vibrating around your neck.

"Sherlock, look! You've been chosen!" You exclaimed happily, a bright smile lighting your face.

"What do I do now?" Sherlock inquired, looking to you for guidance.

"Well, you can pet him for one thing." You responded. "He'll let you know what he doesn't like."

Tentatively, Sherlock reached his fingers out, letting them brush along Jasper's soft onyx fur. The cat in response gently pushing his head against Sherlock's fingers.

You watched Sherlock pet Jasper. His hesitation slipping into a mild fascination as he tried different scritches on the cat. It seemed as though Sherlock had never been around a cat before. From what you knew of the man and his views on affection and connection was probably true. You couldn't imagine him growing up much with any animal friend. Though the same could not have been said for you.

Your eyes widened slightly as you felt Jasper slowly slide further down your shoulders. Not wanting to have your neck clawed to death, you gently lifted the kitten, placing him between you and Sherlock. Jasper displeased with your actions, gave you a look and a sharp meow. Then swiftly turned his attention back to Sherlock. The black kitten choosing to crawl onto the man's lap to sleep.

"Well, it seems you've made a new friend." You laughed out, taking a mental picture of the moment.

"Yes, well that seems to be happening a lot whether I like it or not." Sherlock huffed out.

"Mmmm." You hummed out, your own curiosity getting the best of you, you asked, "So how did things go with John then?"

"It went surprisingly well. Though I was certain he would forgive me eventually. There was a small chance he would still be upset even after we solved this case." Sherlock's voice betrayed happiness as he spoke.

"Well, I'm very glad for that. It's hard when your friends are upset with you. I think you really put in the work to prove how sorry you are though."

A silence passed over you two after that. Your eyes trained on the show, though a small part of you was saddened that you may be forgotten as Sherlock gained John back. You knew it was a silly jealous thought, but part of you couldn't help it. You had been the temporary friend for so long in your life that part of you came to expect it.

"You know," Sherlock started, breaking you from your silent self pitying. Pulling your attention back to him. "Just because John's back doesn't mean I won't stop trying to figure you out or try to persuade you to come on a case with me."

Your brow furrowed at that, "I'm sorry?"

Sherlock huffed, a little annoyed that you were playing dense, "Look, it's obvious you're in your feelings about this for some silly reason. Which I won't go into detail of because you're already aware. So what I'm trying to say is: Yes, John is going to be around more. However, his life has changed and I can't bother him at all hours of the day. But you, (Y/N)... you live here with me and I find you tolerable. So, you're still going to be subject to my moods and pestering."

You smiled brightly. Though his tone was clipped and a bit snide, you knew in his own way Sherlock was being kind.

"Sherlock, is this your way of telling me we're friends?"

"Ugh. You would be so simple right now."

"Listen, you're just lucky Jasper likes you. If he didn't we'd have to find you a new home."

"Then I guess I'll have to thank him for allowing me to stay.

"Be careful though Sherlock, you still have to win over Jinx. And he's harder to become friend's with."

Sherlock looked over at you, a sense of confidence in his blue-green eyes. "I look forward to that challenge then."

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the follows and faves! I appreciate you! I'm thinking though that I may only post on AO3... I don't know yet, but if that becomes the decision, you can find me there as TaintedLover. **

**Let me know what you think/would like to see!**

**Ciao,**

**Aya Ayame**


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